Somewhere There
by desolate
Summary: Sakura's scared of needles - but no-one's there to help her. KakaSaku


WR: Fine. So Sakura doesn't deserve Kakashi. But Kakashi doesn't want to get with Anko, and so this was born. Mutilated at birth, by the way. 

~*~

_Is it raining where you are_? she asked, twitching at the call of her name. She hated the whitewashed walls in the hospital, hated the putrid stink of cleaner, hated the bright, white floors that deterred her from her path. She hated it all. And the fact she hated the most was that _he_ wasn't there to hold her hand – not when she wanted him there the most. Oh yes, he was there to pound at when she was angry, and he was there to poke and prod at her when she needed the support, but he was never there when she was in pain, or when she wanted to cry, or when she wanted to be held. 

_Do you still remember me?_ She hated him when he was away – despised him even. She despised him for leaving her, if only for two or three days; she hated him when he had to command those men and women in missions - because it meant that he was one step closer to _dying_ and leaving her _alone_. And she realized that she really did love him, until her whole purpose of being revolved around him, and that if he were gone, she would want to be gone with him as well. It was sad. Very sad – and to others it might have appeared desperate – but she did love him. 

_Stupid boy, where the hell are you_? she smirked, looking down on the floor. She could see her reflection on the tiles, could hear her feet tapping impatiently on the ground, could feel the cold slumber of air beside her. Yeah, she could feel all that – but she couldn't feel herself. Where was she? Was she lost in his memories? Was she lost in _her_ mind? No – she didn't know where she was at all. 

"Go this way, ma'am, and the doctor'd be right with you." 

Sakura looked at the young nurse expectantly as the door was opened for her. She walked in, grimacing as she saw the array of needles and syringes on top of the metallic table. And she shivered – really shivered – not because of the cold, or because of the ambience, but because it was _always_ at this point where _he_ would come and hold her shoulder and whisper to her that everything would be alright. _Always_ at this point. 

_Goddamn, you're late again._ And she found herself not caring if he had a mission to undergo, she didn't care that he had to train, or become stronger, or that he had to _teach_ all the rest of _them_ how to become _real_ ninja. No, she didn't care – because he was _hers_, and the whole point of that was that she could summon him whenever she wished. It was selfish, naïve, childish even, but she expected all these things of him. 

"Haruno, Sakura, am I correct?" the doctor entered. A middle-aged man clad in white, she nearly snorted at his manner. "You'll have a routine checkup, and then I'll have to draw your blood." 

She gulped. 

"I understand you hate needles, but…" he trailed off. 

She clenched her fists. 

"…You'll have to do it if you want to continue being a ninja." 

Once every year. Once every frigging year – and she couldn't even stand it. Why should _she_ of all people need check-ups? _She_ was perfectly healthy – in fact, most Chuunins were perfectly healthy themselves. It was the _Jounins_ who needed the check-ups – yet the Hokage had said that their health was their _own_ responsibility. 

_Damn it!_ She whined silently. 

_And where the hell was he?!_

"What would you like to do first?" 

She gulped again. 

"I guess the blood test," she said meekly, frowning as the doctor drew out a needle – a large, _large_ needle – with a large, _large_ tube for blood. 

_Stupid boy, I don't need him anyways_. 

"Alright, I'll just be a couple of minutes, I need to get something," the doctor left, taking with him his coat. But not the needle – no, he decided to leave the needle behind. 

For her to _stare_ at until she wanted to _die_ of _fear_ and _fright_. 

One could say she hated needles. 

She merely thought it was a major dislike. 

And her thoughts drifted off once more to _him_ – to his hands, and the way they would play with her hair, to his eyes and the way the would look when he was deep in thought, to his _uniform_ – because she had already _memorized_ the number of _stitches_ on the damn thing. 

So it was here where the term 'speak of the devil' – or more like 'thought' – proved itself true. 

Unfortunately, the 'devil' had managed to dump a certain pale of water on top of her head. 

"Ah, Sakura," he blinked, "sorry about that." 

"And you're late again, _why_?" she demanded. "Stupid Kakashi," she muttered. 

"I was walking on the street and caught sight of a blue bird." 

She sighed. 

"No really, why?" 

He was silent for a while.

"My team was obliterated. I was the only one left standing. But," he paused, "at least I managed to complete the mission." 

"Oh," she mouthed silently. And she was scared – for once, not because of the needles, or the floor, or the hospital room – because she _knew_ her time with him was precious. _God, he could die any day_. 

"They haven't taken your blood yet, have they?" he sat by her – and she decided to promptly jerk away. 

"No," she said simply. And she could see the distressed look on his face – and she could see that this wasn't what he needed now – but she couldn't help it. She was scared _of_ him, and what he could do to her – scared _for_ him, and what those missions could do to him. 

"Are you," he pondered, "angry?" 

For a while she contemplated the idea of being cruel. 

"No," she decided, "no I'm not." 

"You sure," he asked plaintively, searching for her hand. 

"Yeah," she grabbed his instead. 

And they sat like that for a while, enjoying each other's company. 

"I told Tsunade-sama that I was going on a 3 month break," he broke the silence. 

"Eh?" 

"Yeah, and I am going on a break – because I'm tired and I need the sleep," he yawned. 

_What the hell does that do?_ She wanted to scream – _when I'll be even more frightened after three months_? 

"I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when the doctor comes," he rested his head on her shoulder. And yes, he was sleeping – deeply, in fact – something which he hadn't done for a long time. So she looked at him for some time, and she couldn't help but feel guilty for being with such a great man – because she knew she didn't deserve him. After all, what had _she_ done for him? Nothing but mock him, and shout at him, and complain until he would no longer listen. Yeah, that was all she had done for him. 

So when the doctor came in again – this time with a larger needle – she did not wake him up. 

Because she knew _he_ needed her this time. 

And she didn't mind it one bit. 

~*~

WR: Snort. Barf. And as for one-shotters, I usually do chapter stories. 


End file.
